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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27323446">I'm Not In Love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_gays_that_arent_in_space/pseuds/Space_gays_that_arent_in_space'>Space_gays_that_arent_in_space</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Homestuck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Background Vriska Serket, Beaches, Childhood Trauma, Cock Warming, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Cult of the Mirthful Messiahs, Cults, Dark Past, Day At The Beach, Denial of Feelings, Destroying Childhood Memories, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Good Moirail Gamzee Makara, Homelessness, Human Crabdad, Human Gamzee, Humanstuck, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sex, Intimacy, Karkat Swearing, M/M, Making Love, Making Out, Moirails With Pails, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Overdosing, POV Gamzee Makara, POV Second Person, Past Child Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, Platonic Kissing, Post-Coital Cuddling, Psychological Trauma, Public Display of Affection, Public Masturbation, Public Sex, References to Drugs, Religious Cults, Religious Guilt, Sad Gamzee, Sober Gamzee Makara, Sort Of, Trans Karkat Vantas, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:08:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,769</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27323446</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_gays_that_arent_in_space/pseuds/Space_gays_that_arent_in_space</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You have a lot of memories of the beach, none of which that come painlessly. </p><p> </p><p>Every instance of the beach-of that house, impress upon you layers of motherfucking trauma that you’ve repressed for years. It’s hard, acknowledging the way that it hurts, the way that it causes you such motherfucking suffering. It’s hard to acknowledge that the last three years have been such an intense blur of colors and places that you can’t be sure where you’ve been and where you’ve not. That’s over now, though, no more beaches, no more saltwater smells, not until you’re ready. That is what Karbro promised you.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gamzee Makara &amp; Karkat Vantas, Gamzee Makara/Karkat Vantas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I'm Not In Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Just worked like a 7 hour shift tonight and my arm hurts but fuck it more GamKar. I think I may make this a series with just little moments exploring these versions of Gamzee and Karkat but idk, also may do an au of this but they're both trolls rather than people.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You have a lot of memories of the beach, none of which that come painlessly. 
</p><p>Every instance of the beach-of that house, impress upon you layers of motherfucking trauma that you’ve repressed for years. It’s hard, acknowledging the way that it hurts, the way that it causes you such motherfucking suffering. It’s hard to acknowledge that the last three years have been such an intense blur of colors and places that you can’t be sure where you’ve been and where you’ve not. That’s over now, though, no more beaches, no more saltwater smells, not until you’re ready. That is what Karbro promised you. 
</p><p>You think about the beach a lot, about the sermons and the blood lettings and being pressed so deep beneath the black sea that you were so very motherfucking sure you were going to drown in that jocular ass salt you were sucking all up into your lungs. Nonetheless, you went back, no other motherfucker was around to really teach you not to. There was barely even another motherfucker to get you off to learning. The church was the only thing you had, keeping you stomach all full when there wasn’t nothing in the house to get your grub on with, keeping you warm on those late winter nights where you forgot to gather up enough motherfucking money to make a fire, giving you a place where you knew your brothers and sisters would always await you with the most open of mirthful motherfucking arms. They took care of you, only for the price that you pledge yourself to the messiah, and pledge yourself you did. You followed him with a devotion so gleeful it would’ve put every other motherfucker to shame, had you been old enough to become a high motherfucking priest. You wanted to be just like them, laughing all big and loud, never worried and always so close with the messiah. You remember talking about it all the time, rambling on and on to friends who thought you were saying nonsense when really you were laying that most miraculous knowledge all up on them. Then, it all went sideways. You remember the way that your brothers and sisters looked at you, like you were a little blessing. To them, every motherfucker in the church was a miracle from the messiah himself, all sent down for some sort of reason. It was a gift, finding out that you meant so much to those most cherished motherfuckers of yours. You remember their smiles, their big ass meals and all those sugar sweet smells that made your head spin . That smell is what coats your childhood, like cotton candy and stardust and miracles, that smell was your life. 
</p><p>You couldn’t help but keep your camp t-shirts because of it. All that sweetness, all those miracles, all to be run right out the door when you came to need them most, or maybe it was because of the raid. All the motherfucking cops rolling up onto your campsite for the time because they heard reports of disturbances. Sometimes, when you and Karbro pass a church, you think to go inside, you think about all the little prayers you memorized and how you wonder if their incense will remind you of home. 
</p><p>It never has, never will, not when they aren’t pouring pure motherfucking opium out into the air. 
</p><p>Your friends never really motherfucking liked you after the church closed up, though you can’t help but wonder if maybe they never liked you much at all, save for Karbro and Tavbro, of course. Those motherfuckers saw it through with you to the end. 
</p><p>You have memories of the beach after the church, a lot of them, actually. You remember when you had to find somewhere new to stay, so you slept on the beach well into the winter, chilly nights full of sharing bottles of booze and needles with strangers, new brothers and sisters. (They never wanted to listen to your sermons lest they were really gone, but there was a sort of comfort in being able to recall what the High Mirthful Minstrel would yell so motherfucking boisterously to you all.).  Always at school with sand in your hair and carrying miracles through your veins. School is a daze, still. You can’t for the motherfucking life of you figure out what the hell you were supposed to be doing, and sometimes you think of maybe going back. You want to. Karbro says you should.
</p><p>He’s the one that found you, and every motherfucking day you think about if he hadn’t, or if he had too late, you think about how motherfucking sorry you are and how badly you want to wipe that memory clean from his pan. You, all up and strung out by the beach, choking on your own fluids. The thought makes you shiver. 
</p><p>Your only real memory from that day is the way that the saltwater smelled, and you think of how your place is still right by the beach, lights all shut off and water long since ran off back into the ocean. You hope the fish appreciate all that motherfucking shit you still ain’t using. 
</p><p>You got sent to the hospital, then rehab, and then you were all too suddenly sent out into a world that you haven’t known in almost two decades, but there was Karbro, familiar and warm and everything that you remember him being. He is still sun-hot and perfect and everything that you’ve ever needed. He heals your soul because he is a miracle of another kind, a miracle that takes you in his arms and never let’s go. He does not ask for money or favors for the sake of his blessing, only that you try your hardest, only if you stay away from those miracles of the darkest sort. If you can do that then he will continue to bless you as he so has. He helps and helps and helps and helps until the motherfucker is well to hurt to help anymore. You want to help him too. 
</p><p>You want to help him quell that divine rage that lies so deep within him, much as he wants to pull you from this dream you’ve so long been motherfucking trapped in. You want to help him the way that he helps you, and you do everything in your power to please. You just want to see him smile, see him rest his weary head and see the miracles in life. You crave to witness the breaking of your dearest brother, only so that he may be built up again. You love him for his strength and for that lovely, tender, miraculous motherfucking weakness that he carries within him so preciously. You love his rage, fiery and intense, a call to arms for all that he has to give. He is a supernova, made of stars and heat and damage and you love him for it all. Every little thing he does you love him for it. He loves you too, you think. He wouldn’t be doing any of this shit otherwise, you know as much because he said.  He’s working so hard, going to school and visiting his dad all the motherfucking time. He’s been sick recently. Every chance you have you go with him because that man is as much family to you as the church was, staying under his roof for so long lets you know that he feels similarly even if he only communicates it in little grunts and actions. It’s sweet like motherfucking honeycomb. It’s so cozy there, in that house you’ve known since you were a kid, quiet and warm and it’s miraculous that a motherfucker is treated with such hospitality even by bigger Karbro who used to look at you like you were nothing but filth until Karbro and him got into a fight so bad you spent the night at Tavbro’s.
</p><p>Tavbro’s whose motherfucking place you were at just a few days ago, all sat up in his basement with Karbro and Solbro and Horsebro and Catsis, Spidersis was there too, all crowded up in the corner by Tavbro, whispering motherfucking sins in his ear. 
</p><p>You and Spidersis have never had the best of relationships, though really she never much seemed to like you. You only started to mind her when you saw the way Tavbro seemed to feel about her, like she was the most mirthless miracle in the world and how deeply he wanted to be blessed with her. It’s strange, being so moony eyed over someone like that, though there is a sort of irony in you of all people feeling that way. Karbro is different from her though, he couldn’t be cruel no matter how hard he tried, and she struggles to keep all her terrible fucking cruelties locked up in her heart. You’re watching a movie about something, you’re not too sure what about, you’ve gotten far more invested in braiding Catsis’s hair. She’s been growing it out apparently, says she wanted to try it, she looks fucking miraculous. Solbro and Karbro are wasping at each other over something, but Karbro looks to be having fun. This moment in time is sugar sweet and you want to hold it close forever. You feel yourself smiling, watching the face of all your best motherfucking bros in the faint blue light of the tv screen you’ve crowded all up by. You feel eyes on you, sharp and pointed, they can only be one motherfucker’s and there’s no reason she should want to talk to you now. 
</p><p>You refuse to meet her gaze, she will not let those cruelties out, the mirthless little motherfuckers that they are. You look at the way the sun dapples patterns on the old carpet of the basement despite the blinds being closed tight. They make weird, miraculous little shapes, and before you can even think you come out with. 
</p><p>”It’s all motherfucking miraculous ‘n shit y’know. The way the sun just...move ‘n shit” Your mouth spreads into an easy grin and you turn away from the sun to face them.
</p><p>All of your friends give little mhms, muttering comments that slide easy into the air, nothing mean, they never really are, this bunch.
</p><p>”Gamzee are you high again or something?”
</p><p>The room goes still, and for a minute it feels like everything stops. Everything sharpens up and the easy fun, the mirth of it all, dissipates in the air. Spidersis is more of a Spiderbitch. You’ve known this for a long ass motherfucking time, but damn do you remember clearer now. Everyone is looking at you, waiting for what you will or won’t do, and you feel that old anger boiling all up through your body. It’s choking you, making your insides fizz all like motherfucking Faygo. You choke on your words a little, and it comes out like a chuckle, you’re chuckling now, little quiet noises that display all the motherfucking mirth you keep inside of you. Laughing is easy, you’ve done it for a long time, and it keeps you warm. Laughter is the best medicine, second only to miracles. Spiderbitch-spidersis-Vriska, is laughing too now, and you feel yourself crack a little. You can’t stop laughing, you want to, this isn’t funny, it hurts like going to the beach and eating key lime pies and seeing the alleyway on main street. It’s so good and so bad and it hurts a motherfucker so motherfucking much. Karbro comes to your side, hands all up in your hair and sweet whispers in your ears and you settle. The room is heavy from then on, and every once in a while you let out a little chuckle because that choking feeling still hasn’t dissipated and you know no other motherfucking way to live. So you laugh, you chuckle and giggle and cackle and chortle and howl your motherfucking ass into a frenzy before Karbro has the two of you go home. 
</p><p> You’ve been thinking about that afternoon a lot. 
</p><p>You think about it all laid up in bed beside Kabro, watching his romcoms and listening to his novels while he reads them to you, you think about it when you’re in the shower, washing all the motherfucking grease and grime from work out of your hair, and you think about it motherfucking especially in the car. Every time you go down the highway in your van, you see the water on the horizon and think about all of it. It stings, hurts so motherfucking bad that sometimes you pull off to the side of the road just to clutch at your chest and wait for that agony to subside. Oh how deep it runs, it poisons a motherfucker no matter how hard he tries. You think about going back-of finding a church like that one and letting them free you from all that fucking bullshit that tethers you to this world, of letting the Angel of Double Death consume you and end the world as you know it. It would be beautiful, but then you think about Karbro. You think about how you don’t want your favorite motherfucker to die and about how Kardad has been so kind and it seems like his health is on the upswing, and then you keep driving. Even still, the beach never leaves your pan. 
</p><p>You get the idea during one of those drives, right on your way home from work, right when you’re driving past that water on the horizon. 
</p><p>”Kabro, why don’t we have a motherfucking beach day, just me and my best motherfucking friend”
</p><p>Karkat’s face twists all up into a grimace, like he can’t believe you just said it. You can’t believe it either, but you said it now and you have to deal with it. Your head is in his lap, you’re sucking up all the motherfucking warmth he can offer you. 
</p><p>”Gamzee, are you sure that this is a good idea and not just some sort of stupid goal that’ll end in nothing except for us driving around aimlessly for about six hours because you couldn’t work up the nerve to do it. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t particularly mind the life threatening experience that is driving around with you, but I do have to say that it doesn’t seem like the most logical ideas. That is to say, logical in your sense of the word and not the logic that lies in literally any fucking dictionary on the planet.”
</p><p>”I’m sure. It’s gonna be like that thing, y’know, that miraculous motherfucker where you show all up to the shit that scares you and you stop being afraid of it.”
</p><p>”Exposure therapy. It’s called exposure therapy, Gamzee”
</p><p>Karbro takes a hand to your scalp now, rubbing at your head all pleasant-like. You swear his head massages are miracles, sometimes he pats your face too, just comforting a motherfucker from all the shit running in your brain. You want that now, too. You wanna go down to the beach and smell that saltwater air with him by your side. You want the comfort of knowing your best friend is there, right by your side, as you let these old, festering, mirthless motherfucking wounds air out. 
</p><p>”Yeah, motherfuckin’ exposure therapy.”
</p><p>Karkat agrees to come with you, and you have to resist the urge to laugh. The trip is as sudden as your desire. The very next morning you two are loading up the van and on your way. Karbro is quiet for most of the car ride, letting you play your clown rap and watching you mostly out of the corner of his eye. You plan to go to the smallest beach you know, all secluded ‘n shit, nestled up next to the rocks and about two hours away from home. The drive there is made of memories, of the blurs of colors and possible places you’ve been. It is made of those blood lettings and the saltwater baptisms and key lime pie. It is made of all your fears, all those joyless sins that chase you, biting right at your heels if you can’t move quite motherfucking fast enough. And when you get there, you feel your heart stop cold in your chest. It’s a miraculous motherfucking sight, really, it is. It’s all waves lapping up at the sand and sun glittering up against the water. It’s lovely. It’s lovely and it pains you so motherfucking deep. You try to power through it though, you get all out the van and lay out your things behind the back of the motherfucking van, half holding your breath while you do. Karbro is looking at you strangely, he’s worried, he doesn’t think this was a good idea. You know that he doesn’t. A mad motherfucking mirthless part of your brain doesn’t think so either, but you still do. This is necessary. 
</p><p>You sit down on your towel, kicking off your shoes on the way. It all feels surreal, Karbro all warm beside you, feeling the cool of the breeze hit you. 
</p><p>You remember all your motherfucking prayers from when you were a kid. Each and every one etched right up inside of your flesh. You bet that if Karbro peeled your skin off he would be able to see it, see all those words and praises you’ve given. You want to pray now, want to ask for guidance, but you can’t, you don’t know how anymore. You know all these prayers and you can’t remember how you’re supposed to beg for the most holy of motherfucking guidances. You ache inside, you ache deep and raw and bleeding and the salty air is doing nothing except for making your wounds <i>hurt</i>.
</p><p>Karbro takes your hand and holds it tight, clutching you like you may float off into the wind. You turn to look at him and his expression is hard, his eyes full of hate for nothing in particular, or maybe it’s something that you don’t know shit about.  When Karbro holds your hand like this, you think about loving him. How you do and how you want to. You love him because he is your very best motherfucking miracle, he is light, he is a meteor, he is an all consuming force of nature that you adore. You love him from his kindness to his rage and from his cranky motherfucking demeanor to his motherfucking sensitivity, but there is also the way that you <i>want</i> to love him. You want to love him in that way that he lives in the deepest depths of your heart, that he runs through your veins, you want to love him like he is the only blessed miracle you’ve ever experienced in all your years. You can’t though. You know that you can’t because a motherfucker doesn’t deserve to love so intensely, not yet, at least. You want to love your Karbro raw, kiss him deep and careful, but you can’t yet. No, instead you take your indulgences where you can. 
</p><p>Karbro squeezes your hand a little tighter. 
</p><p>You turn to him and press a kiss to his lips, he kisses you back with a certain ease. You’ve been doing things like this for a long time now, little kisses and touches as a comfort. It isn’t with that most miraculous of love you feel for him, you and he both know that. It won’t be until you are absolutely certain that you can be for him what he is to you. So you kiss like this, sweet and gentle, little licks into his mouth. The sea water smells less sour to you when you’re like this.
</p><p>You pull away, only so that you might place kisses on those miraculous motherfucking cheeks of Karbro’s. In return he kisses your chin, wrapping his arms around you and holding you motherfucking vice grip tight. He is the only motherfucker you could have trusted to come to a place like this with, all personal and shit. You lean down to kiss him again, soft and sweet, tasting what his lips must offer you. They offer the taste of coffee and the scrape of skin and the wetness of spit. You love him. You hold him tight against you and feel as he crawls into your lap. You exchange these little kisses, friendly and platonic. They ground you. They keep you whole. You think about how the beach was when you were really fucking small. It was fun. It had been fun and sweet and full of memories, memories that escape you now no matter how deep you dig for them. 
</p><p>You listen to the waves as Karkat kisses you again, your hands are on his waist and his hands are on your face and you just know he’s going to get greasepaint all on his motherfucking hands. The thought makes you laugh a little, as much real as it is scared. 
</p><p>You kiss like that for a while, all gentle noises and miraculous little touches that set parts of you alight. You love all this platonic smooching so much that it helps you forget about where you are, all there is is him and he is all you want. That is how the escalation starts, your absolute, all consuming <i>want</i> for him. You kiss him and let all that miraculous motherfucking want free. You hold his hips a little tighter, pushing him down against you. He’s what is keeping you whole, he is your heart. You love him and you want him. You’ve wanted him like this before, you’ve had him like this before, though not many times. You have a deal, only when you really need it. When you need it he gives himself to you. 
</p><p>The first time was just as sweet, just as nerve wracking, though under much more night than this one. It was sudden and sweeter than honey, it was that night you realized how deep the miracles run within him. You crush your mouth against his, make berry wine out of your mouths. You nip at his bottom lip and listen to the noise he makes because of it. He rolls his hips down, right up against you, and you groan into his mouth. 
</p><p>Nightmares of the unmiraculous, mirthless kind, are something that haunt you, and Karbro was there. He was there with open arms and open heart and those sweet, platonic little kisses that so warm you up inside. Then those kisses became like these ones, long and heavy and panting, you were drunk on them, he was too. He was so motherfucking drunk on those kisses that he let you into him in a way so special every time you think about it you go hot all over. You think about his voice and the way that he moved and the way that his pillows looked in the moonlight, all glowy ‘n shit. All of it was beautiful, all of it was perfect. It’s happened two more times since. Much as you want him you know that you can’t have him, not until you’re good, but you’re close, that’s what you tell yourself every motherfucking day. Every day is a little bit closer to being the kind of motherfucker Karbro deserves. 
</p><p>He makes a noise, shifting against you that gets you all hot and motherfucking bothered. You grip at him a little bit tighter, feeling the loop in his jeans dig into the flesh of your thumb. You want them off. You feel around above you, behind you, hoping, praying to find anything at motherfucking all for you to use as a cover, and you come across the blanket that was supposed to be for you two to snuggle under. You always keep it in your van, with hopes that Karkat will climb up in back with you for a quick cuddle-sesh and maybe a nap, now you’re being blessed with a miracle. You pull the blanket down, covering the two of you up. Karkat seems to snap out of his stupor, pupils blown wide and mouth soaked wet with your motherfucking spit. 
</p><p>”Gamzee, what the hell are you thinking?”
</p><p>”I dunno brother...just that we could make some new, much more miraculous and motherfucking mirthful memories here today. I wouldn’t wanna do something like this with any other motherfucker, so I decided to see if my best motherfucking bro would be all up and motherfucking willing to-”
</p><p>Karbro presses a finger to your lips, shutting you up effectively. He’s flustering, obviously, and you lift a hand to stroke the flesh of his cheek. He’s lovely, even like this. 
</p><p>”First of all, quit it with the motherfucking motherfuckers, at least for right now. Second of all, I don’t want to do something like this where we can get so obviously caught you fucking brain-drained idiot.”
</p><p>”But bro...right in front of the….” You somehow can’t even bring yourself to talk about the miracle behind you, the lovely view of the motherfucking beach. 
</p><p>Karkat hesitates for a moment, staring down at you with something like confusion-something like pity-something like love-something like all that motherfucking want you know that he holds inside of himself for your sake just like you do his. He sighs, long and loud, like this isn’t something he wants to do despite the way his hips moved against you so easily before. You grin at him, leaning in to kiss his mouth again, all gentle and fairy light. He struggles, shimmying his pants off. The motherfuckers get caught around his thighs and by his knees, it doesn’t help any that you can’t seem to ever hold the motherfucking blanket up high enough. The sight is still lovely though, even more lovely when you want the way Karbro shimmies one leg out of his boxers and leaves the other leg inside, poor motherfucker just resting all up against your pants. It’s your turn to strip down now, though it’s a whole lot motherfucking easier. You reach into your pants and pull out your mini motherfucking juggling pin, it had been stabbing you the whole time you and Karbro had gone at it. Following up your little juggling pin comes your dick, hard and leaking already just from a little heavy petting with Karbro. You don’t know the how or why behind the way he makes your body react, but you don’t need to know. Miracles are at their best when they stay unknown, knowledge just fucks the whole vibe up.
</p><p>He’s hovering above you now, staring down at your dick with hungry eyes, you grin. You want to take more time with him, kiss the small spots of his body, remind him how motherfucking much you love your best bro, but now is not the time for that. Now is the time for his brand of care, now is the time to feel his body meld all up with yours and taste the most divine of comforts. 
</p><p>He sinks down slowly and the groan you let out is absolutely guttural. He’s faring not much better, the little pants he’s letting out just barely masking the sounds he’s <i> actually</i> making. You let out a little chuckle, and the glare he shoots you is just as sexy as his expression before it. You kiss him again, this time you pour a little bit of that want in there. He kisses you back, all motherfucking distracting by sliding down on to your dick. You want to help him down, let him take you all at once, but he can’t, you know that he can’t. Even still, he’s hot and wet and he’s still keeping you grounded to this here plane of motherfucking existence. 
</p><p>His hands take their place on your shoulders when he hits about half way and a part of you feels like you could cum from just this, the feel of him inching down you, pressing little miraculous kisses against your skin and panting in your ear. All of it could be enough if you thought hard about it, if you felt it for long enough, if he would just keep digging his fingers deep into the flesh of your shoulders, so deep that he could pull out your bones and show off those little wings you just know are beneath the surface. Instead though, he pulls you into a tight hug, and finally gets you completely inside of him. 
</p><p>He’s clenching up around you, making you feel little sparks of heat shoot to your gut, but there’s also something about this moment that makes you want to cry. Karkat moves his hips a little, like one of his motherfucking tests, and you watch the way that the ocean laps up near you, like it wants to come suck you back under. You grip his hips tight in your hands, focus on the feel of his breath on your neck. There are tears sliding down your cheeks now, you can feel them. 
</p><p>”Hey Karbro…”
</p><p>Karkat steadies himself, “What the fuck is it Gamzee, I’m sorta busy here if you couldn’t tell”
</p><p>”I just wanted to ask you, I ever tell you about my first birthday with the church? It was the motherfucking shit’s bitchtits.”
</p><p>Karkat pauses his little hip gyrations, instead moving a hand to your hair to stroke it. He can tell that you’re totally crying, you know that he can. He speaks slowly, like you’re not under him and like you could easily run off if you wanted to, like you would be willing to leave him here and drive off to motherfucking neverland. 
</p><p>”You didn’t. Do you want to?”
</p><p>You pull the blanket closer to the two of you, gripping it all up in your fists mega-tight. 
</p><p>”A motherfucking doesn’t really know.”
</p><p>He presses his fingers into your scalp, already rubbing little circle pattern against it.
</p><p>”That’s fine, you can just tell me later or some shit like that. Go on one of your long nonsensical rambles about it if you must. I’ll just sit here and listen, not like i have shit else better to do.”
</p><p>It’s strange, the way that you find yourself softening up inside of him, and yet this moment is perfect. This all you  truly wanted anyway, this promise, this moment of real human connection. You lean up, pulling him down into another kiss, he still flutters around you, and you find yourself with a half chub if you go at it for too long. You don’t want the sex though, not really, you want this, these small kisses and the chance to escape. The smell of salt isn’t as putrid when the smell of coffee mixes with it, the feel of the sand against your skin meshes well with his warmth in your hands, the sound of the ocean is bearable, when there is his voice scratching at your ears in the very best of motherfucking ways. 
</p><p>You want to love Karbro like this all the time, with the promise that you’ll be good to him, but you can’t help but feel a little bit of fear. You fear so many things with him, like all  the little shit you were supposed to be scared of has been poured into this thing, this violent little creature pressed to your lap. You’re scared of so many things when it comes to him, but the thing you’re most motherfucking afraid of is losing him. You know well, better than any other motherfucker would give you credit for, that Karkat Vantas is the very best thing that has ever happened to you in your motherfucking life, so you can’t fuck up with him. You also know better than any other motherfucker would give you credit for, that it’s a motherfucking miracle that Karbro feels the same about you that you do for him. You nuzzle up against his neck, kissing him and watching the waves. He’ll let you sit like this long as you want, giving you little motherfucking head massage after little motherfucking head massage, waiting for you to say anything at all to him. 
</p><p>You feel like crying all over again.
</p><p>You do. 
</p><p>You do and Karkat is there to brush them from your cheeks with his thumbs, smiling at you with the most affectionate motherfucking pity you’ve ever done experienced in your motherfucking life. 
</p><p>”I was motherfucking ten or some shit like that. Can’t really be sure, but they made me a pie. It was the best tasting shit I had ever had, shit tasted like it had miracles baked right into its motherfucking crust. The whole motherfucking feast was for me too, I even got to wear the mirthful motherfucking minstrel’s make up for the day. It was a god damn dream come true. There were songs and jokes and the amount of motherfucking mirth pouring outta everyone there was so….so <i>good</i>. It made a motherfucker feel <i>at home</i> for the first time in his life…”
</p><p>The sand on that beach was just as white at the sand here, and you can remember tents big as fifteen feet motherfucking tall. They loved each other, much as they loved the Angel of Double Death that you still lie awake at night waiting for sometimes.
</p><p>Karkat holds you close and tight in his arms, no words leave him. You bet he’s reeling, realizing how much of a family those motherfucking motherfuckers were to you. You are, yet again, one of many infinitesimal moments that you’ve been having for the last several years since you’ve been separated from them. 
</p><p>”Fuck them.”
</p><p>”Huh”
</p><p>”I said, fuck those stupid clown <i>assholes</i> for making you think you needed them so badly when really all they did was get a vulnerable twelve-year old from a shitty home hooked on fucking heroin. They were running a fucking meth lab too, did you ever find that out? They were a cult, with a fucking meth lab in back. The whole operation was insane and the fact that they had you involved makes me so fucking angry I want to rip the tongue out of the next person I see and shove it right up their anus until it’s right back where it started!” 
</p><p>”I know...I motherfucking know brother…”
</p><p>”No, Gamzee, you don’t know. Those dipshits didn’t give a fuck about you, not rally at least. They used you, and I need you to know that they used you because if you don’t then I’ll have to be worried-I’ll have to be worried that you’ll run off and nearly get yourself killed all over again, and as much as I would love to be rid of your annoying ass something like that would probably give me a fucking heart attack.”
</p><p>You’re stunned, utterly floored by the pure pour of words that just came from Karbro’s vocals. Your heart swells and you fill yourself warm. You can’t help but kiss him again, deep and strong and so very motherfucking platonic. He kisses you back, despite all his scowling and trying to get you to not read too much into what he motherfucking said.
</p><p>You roll your hips upward and he gasps into your mouth, you smile, sweet on him and his words and just about everything else. He still looks worried about you, really, there never is a moment when he doesn't look like that. You want there to be though, you want there to be so very motherfucking bad. You want to see his face etched in sweet ass motherfucking peace. You're already getting hard again, the miracles of a bro who is so very motherfucking good to you. He's warm inside, getting wetter each moment you sit there like that, tiny little thrusts to prompt feeling, kisses pressed against is jaw and pulling at his seams.  He holds you close to him, rolling his hips downward, meeting you in the smallest of motherfucking ways. 
</p><p>All of it is so sweet, so gentle. You love him so very much. Even if you cannot find your holy release here you're happy for even this. You move to take his lips again, tongue dipping into his mouth almost immediately, he lets out another little noise and you stutter a bit, you little thrust not so little this time. He gasps and hugs you even tighter to him. 
</p><p>"Karbro," You're panting already, little miraculous bits of pleasure shooting through you. 
</p><p>"What the fuck is it Gamzee?"
</p><p>"You're a treasure,"
</p><p>He clenches around you when you say that, and you can tell that he's flustered by the way his mouth has gone all silent. No, instead of talking he will lave at your neck, bite little marks and hickeys into it that you can be so proud of. Marks that you are promised to him and him only, marks that are an assurance that he feels so motherfucking similarly as you do. He's moving faster now, the shifts of the blanket becoming more obvious. Anyone could walk by and see you at anytime, they could figure out that your homie is dropping that motherfucking secret calm down sauce on you through these lovely ministrations. Even if they do, you won't let them see him, won't have him expose himself and face all that horrific motherfucking scrutiny. He doesn't need it, doesn't deserve it. 
</p><p>You're getting close, thrusting deep into the raging fiery core of his and being blessed with full body shocks. You can tell he's getting close too, you want nothing more than to spill, let loose all that genetic material you have stored up inside of you, but you know he doesn't need motherfucking worries like that. He doesn't deserve them. Even still, he's above you, moving in quick little movements as he takes a hand to himself. You want to help, but the sight before you is too miraculous. It isn't long until he drops against you, letting out the softest of motherfucking groans that makes you tingle. You close, so very motherfucking close that you can't take it. 
</p><p>You push him off of you. You settle him beneath the blanket while still in his post orgasmic motherfucking haze, then you fuck your fist into oblivion, spilling right on to your hand in the midst of your frenzy. You wipe your hand on the towel, then tuck yourself right back into your pants. Karbro is staring at you, swollen mouthed and looking flushed despite the brown of his skin. You press one more little kiss to his cheek and pull the blanket on top of you. He's staring at the water now, looking at the beautiful motherfucking scenery that causes you so much pain. 
</p><p>You have a lot of memories of the beach, none of which that come painlessly. 
</p><p>Every instance of the beach-of that house, impress upon you layers of motherfucking trauma that you’ve repressed for years. It’s hard, acknowledging the way that it hurts, the way that it causes you such motherfucking suffering in your daily. It’s hard to acknowledge that the last three years have been such an intense blur of colors and places that you can’t be sure where you’ve been and where you’ve not. That’s over now, though, no more beaches, no more saltwater smells, not until you’re ready. That is what Karbro promised you. 
</p><p>Today you are ready, today you want to face all those dark motherfucking feelings all up inside of you, eating away at a motherfucker so harshly that every day is a fight. You want to be better-you will be better. All for the sake of him, for the sake of yourself, for the sake of your want and love and need and lust and anger and every other motherfucking miraculous thing you feel, and he will hold you in his arms, vice-grip tight, never once letting you go, not even if you ask him. Not even if he knows that you will break him all over again into those little pieces, break his trust like you did so long ago. He is a miracle, mirthful and glistening and bright. You want to impress upon yourself his brightness-his heat-his absolution, the blessed freedom from all your sins past. 
</p><p>You want to-you need to-you have to.
</p><p> No matter what though, you know that you must protect him above all else. Hide from others what you see so very breakable in him. That is how you will repay your debt, until you can be the one to hold his very heart that beats in his chest in your very own hands, safe forever with someone who will love it as it needs.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi kudos, comments, etc are greatly appreciated and there is a 99% chance that if you comment I'll reply.</p><p>@tamyura_on twt<br/>@porcelain_babies on insta</p></blockquote></div></div>
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